Griffin Stone:Duke Of Decadence

‘And I have said that I have no wish to return to my bedchamber!’

‘The two of us will talk again in the morning,’ Griffin concluded firmly.

Bea glared first at Griffin and then at Sutherland, and back to Griffin. ‘You are both mad if you believe I will calmly accept this silence until this Lord Maystone arrives!’ She gathered up the bottom of her robe with an angry swish. ‘I will give you both until morning to discuss the matter, and then I shall demand to know the answers!’ She turned on her heel and marched angrily from the room.

‘What a fascinating young woman,’ Christian breathed as he gazed after her admiringly.

‘You will keep your lethal charms to yourself where Bea is concerned.’ Griffin was in no mood at present—or any other time, he suspected—to listen to or behold another man’s admiration for Bea.

Christian gave him a long and considering stare. ‘As you wish,’ he finally drawled softly. ‘In the meantime, perhaps you might care to explain to me just exactly what it was you were doing in the library with your “goddaughter” at this time of the night?’

Griffin felt his face go pale.

* * *

Hateful.

Hateful and impossible, Bea decided as she angrily paced the length and breadth of her bedchamber.

Both of them!

How could Griffin, especially after the intimacies they had so recently shared, possibly side with the hateful Duke of Sutherland?

Why was her identity such a secret?

Who was she, and what had she done, that Christian Seaton refused to discuss it in front of her?

Bea sank down on the side of her bed, weariness overtaking her as the events of the evening finally took their toll on her.

Just a short time ago she had been so happy, had felt so utterly desired, so satiated in that desire, yet now it was as if that closeness between herself and Griffin had never taken place. As if there was a distance between them so wide it might never be bridged.

Her cheeks heated as she thought of the intimacies they had shared. The pleasure Griffin had given her with both his hands and mouth. The unmistakeable pleasure she had given him in return. The taste of him on her lips.

Oh, dear Lord, would Seaton know that the two of them had been making love shortly before his arrival?

Griffin’s appearance had certainly been dishevelled enough; he had not bothered to resume wearing his neckcloth or waistcoat and jacket before striding out into the hallway, and his hair was in disarray from her caressing fingers. Just as his lips had looked as puffy and swollen as her own now felt.

Would Christian Seaton, wickedly handsome, and so obviously a sophisticated gentleman of the world, have been able to tell, just from looking at the two of them, that she and Griffin had been making love together when he arrived?

Oh, dear Lord, could this night become any more humiliating?

Bea gave a muffled sob as she buried her face in the pillow, once again afraid. Of the knowledge of her past. Of what her future might hold.

Of having to leave Griffin.

* * *

‘I would not care to discuss it, no,’ Griffin answered the other man tightly as he moved to lift the decanter on his desk, pouring brandy into two of the crystal glasses before handing one to his friend. ‘Who is she, Christian? And why all the secrecy?’

Christian took a grateful swallow of the amber liquid before answering him. ‘We believe her name to be Lady Beatrix Stanton. She is nineteen years of age, and the unmarried daughter of the Earl and Countess of Barnstable. You will recall that both the Earl and his countess perished in a carriage accident last year? As for the rest...’ He grimaced. ‘The demand for secrecy is all Maystone’s doing, I am afraid.’

Bea’s name was Beatrix Stanton. She was the unmarried Lady Beatrix Stanton, Griffin corrected grimly, relieved at the former and satisfied that his previous conviction that Bea was a lady was a true one.

He had known her father, damn it; the two of them had belonged to the same club in London. Unfortunately Griffin had been out of the country when Barnstable and his countess had died so he had been unable to attend the funeral.

But he had known Bea’s father!

Griffin threw some of the brandy to the back of his own throat, face grim as his thoughts raced.

Bea’s dream of having attended her parents’ funeral had been a true one.

So, then, must be the dream of her abduction, imprisonment, and the beatings.

Not that Griffin had ever had any doubts regarding the latter even if he did not know the reason for it.

And what of the man, Michael? He then must also be real.

Exactly who was he, and what did he mean to Bea?

He looked sharply across at Sutherland as the other man now slouched down in one of the chairs before the fire, no doubt tired from the strains of his hurried journey. ‘If her parents are both dead, then who is now her guardian?’